


Oversight

by sabinelagrande



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Sub Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's working smarter, not harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oversight

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, _sir_ ," Clint says. The longer he sits like this, the harder it gets to sound as unconcerned and sarcastic as he wants to; he's kneeling, naked, on the floor of the bedroom, hands bound behind his back, legs spread just enough for it to be embarrassing without being all that uncomfortable.

The plug up his ass isn't doing much to help the situation.

Phil's not even looking at him; his eyes are on his book. He's reclining on the bed, and all he's done in terms of clothing since he got home is loosen his tie and take off his jacket and shoes. Clint is quietly infuriated and just a little humiliated by that, when he's over here all fucked up and Phil looks like he could be on his lunch break. "I'm not trying at all," Phil says, turning a page.

"Could've fooled me," Clint tells him, struggling a little against the leather cuffs.

"I don't have to try," he says. "If I leave you there for long enough, you'll do all the hard work for me." He turns another page, and God, if only Phil would put down that fucking book and look at him for a second. From here it looks like _Rainbow Six_ or some shit and he is _not even reading it_ , just flipping through the pages, and Clint _knows_ he's just doing it to get a rise out of him.

Working.

Time passes; Clint's got a pretty good sense of it, so it must be about ten minutes, but at the same time it is _a whole fucking year_. Nothing is getting better, and several things are getting worse. The strain in his shoulders is increasing, his knees are getting tired, and his dick, Jesus Christ, it's better if he just doesn't even think about that. The plug rides the line between hot and uncomfortable; he's full and it's pushing against him in just the right spot and generally it's pretty great, but it's not enough, not by a long shot. At this point, it's exactly right for turning him on just enough to piss him off.

"You're a bastard, Coulson," Clint spits, even though he's mad at himself for giving him the satisfaction.

Phil smiles to himself. "So they tell me."

He's wiggling now, writhing around so that he can find some way to make it better, move the plug or something. It's not working and not working, and then Clint is suddenly struck by what he must look like, down on the floor, totally exposed, humping against nothing, _begging_ for it. His face goes hot in an instant.

"You win," he says, through his teeth.

"Do I?" Phil asks, still engrossed in that fucking, fucking book. "What did I win?"

Clint groans in frustration. "Shit, I don't know, fuck me, do whatever you want, just _do it_. Don't leave me like this."

Phil picks up his bookmark, carefully marks his place, and sets his book on the nightstand. He turns to Clint, and the look on his face, the overwhelming satisfaction, the effortless _power_ he's radiating- it makes Clint glad he's already on his knees, because if he weren't he'd be scrambling to go.

"That's a dangerous thing to say," Phil tells him.

"You know me," Clint says, breathless. "I live dangerously."

Phil smirks.

Clint is _screwed_.


End file.
